


synthetic

by shepherd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Mavin, RageHappy, creepgar - Freeform, the end is pretty obvious but i suppose it can be ambigious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written while doing writing practise. An AU based off the prompt 'betrayal'. Mavin. Angst and man pain. Just over 1000 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	synthetic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for practise and unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine own. Constructive crit welcome. 
> 
> Most importantly, sorry for the Game Of Thrones reference.

Gavin’s lips are dry and chapped, and pressed into a tight, thin line. His jaw is tense, his teeth grit together. His body is rigid and tense, his lean muscles as hard and as immovable as a rock. It hurts. Everything hurts. It’s dull aching nausea and screaming agony, and every ragged breath he takes burns, and every beat of his heart is deafening like thunder in his ears.

  
The gun in his hands is shockingly cold, biting into him, and stinging his warm, sweaty hands. It’s like it’s been carved out of black ice. The chill and the shock of the feeling is the only thing keeping him grounded and tethered to reality. Otherwise, it all seems like a dream. A terrible dream, the kind that haunts you even years after you woke shrieking, covered in a cold sweat with the blankets knotted and twisted around your feet.  
The weapon trembles in his hand. He can’t aim in this state. He certainly couldn’t shoot. Squeezing the trigger would have an awful finality about it, something he just couldn’t commit himself to.

  
Facing down the barrel of Gavin’s gun, Michael can’t find the oxygen to form words, his chest impossibly tight, his throat feeling like it was full of slick, dark oil. His lungs were full of it too. He tries to swallow, and he finds it’s impossible. He’s sick to his stomach, and he wants nothing more than to fall to his knees and submit. The look Gavin’s giving him isn’t salt in the wound- it’s a thumb in the wound, digging, twisting, tearing.

  
And the gun in his own hands is a bitter irony, now he thinks about it. He tests the waters between them, trying to choke out a bitter laugh. It comes out deformed, more like a pathetic whimper.

  
Gavin sneers in response, baring his teeth. His dry lips almost rip open with the movement. Gavin’s teeth are smeared with blood. Their lives have turned into a horror story, but neither can tell who the monsters are.

  
“I love you.” Michael says, his voice a desperate sound, speaking so fast his voice is a slur. And then that’s it. Gavin sucks in a hissing breath through his gritted teeth, and stinging tears form in his eyes. They don’t fall, but they thicken, making his eyes glisten and gleam. His grip on the gun tightens, and he holds this breath. Michael watches him, his own eyes cartoonishly wide. They stand there like cold, distant statues, weapons trained directly on each other.  
Then Gavin releases that breath, a heavy oof, and his arm drops, all the tension leaving it, and it falls to his side. His grip on the gun lazes, and it dangles uselessly in his fingers. He can’t accurately remember if he left the safety on. He imagines what would have happened if he had actually smiled, snarled something cruel and clever- perhaps ‘you’re a fool, I never loved you’- then pulled the trigger and after all that intensity, all that build up, nothing would have happened. He laughs at the thought, a mad little giggle, imagining the stunned look on his own face before Michael would take his chance and pull the trigger. The man who loved him, putting a bullet in-between his eyes.

  
“Fuck you.” He growls, reaching up and rubbing furiously at his eyes. He wills the tears to go away. They don’t. “Fuck you.” He repeats, the words clawing up his throat and leaving it ruined, shredded and raw. _“Fuck you.”_

  
He sees Michael shudder, and his eyes drift closed. The other man is evidently trembling, his broad shoulders jumping. His knees are weak, his blood is rushing through his veins, his heart is dying, his soul is dead. Now’s your chance, a dark voice locked up in Gavin’s head breaths, it’s voice rasping. It sounded just like Geoff. Gavin wonders if his boss is watching the both of them. He was _always_ watching. Dimly, dumbly, he wonders what he thinks of all this- his once flawless little soldier, his killing machine getting all teary eyed, as love struck as a teen girl. Shoot him. Kill him. Do it, now!

  
He doesn’t.

  
Michael has opened his eyes again, and he has gathered his composure. He no longer shakes, but he’s hardly nonchalant. He’s ground his teeth too, his jaw tense underneath the pale, pliant skin. Gavin can see hatred in his eyes, as clear as day, but he can’t tell who it’s for.

  
Silence reigns between them for several long seconds. They can hear dull ambience from the party, not too far away. Both men think of all the guests, the lovers and the liars, and how they might react to find a dead corpse oozing life so close to them hours from now. Neither know what the body looks like.

  
“Are you gonna do it?” Michael then asks him, his tiny voice as loud and as sudden as a car crash in the silence of the room. “Aren’t you gonna shoot?”

  
Gavin stares at him as if he had stripped naked and proclaimed himself to be the mother of dragons. He opens him mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out, so he closes it again. He shakes his head, as if waving away a bizarre thought. He licks his lips, wetting them, and Michael almost curses. Gavin tries again.

  
“I,” He begins, his voice wavering. He winces, and he takes a second to recover. It doesn’t work- when he next speaks, his voice is just as breathless as before. “I’m not gonna shoot you, Michael.”

  
God, Michael wished he never asked.

  
 _Tell me you love me,_ he wants to scream, shriek and howl like a banshee until his lungs give out. _Tell me you want me, tell me you want to run away with me._

  
Gavin doesn’t say any of those things.

  
The delicate balance of metal against skin, the balance between life and death. It’s a worn grey thread, stretched and pulled so thin it’s barely even visible.

  
Michael looks at him, up and down, taking in the sight of the lover he had claimed. The man he was commanded to kill. _I love you._ He takes in the sight of his kissable lips, his dark perfect hair, and pretends his eyes aren’t full of apathy and yet full of despair. _I want you._ He remembers him how he did just hours ago- laughing, joking, smiling- and then he strokes, and then squeezes the trigger.


End file.
